Spiral Of Shame: A Head Of Cabbage Finally Speaks Out
Luck of the Irish, my ass!“says Sean, a head of cabbage I met yesterday when he hurled himself at my head in the produce aisle of the supermarket. How he was able to do that, I’m still not really sure but it might have had something to do with the disgruntled and as it turns out violent, employee stocking cabbage behind me.
Sean, whose real name has been changed to protect his identity and family, told me, “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” I responded.
“Time to break the silence about the atrocities committed to billions of cabbages each day and the hopelessness which exists in our community. This has gone on for far too long and we have suffered in silence — but not anymore.”
After talking myself down for hours thinking I must have ingested a large amount of LSD or be in the middle of a massive anxiety attack to be able to hear a head of cabbage talking, I took Sean home, making him comfortable on the couch in a pan of ice and talked with him for hours.
“Have you everheard of ‘Slikkérrog’?” he asked.
“No.” I replied.
“It’s a game where little boys and girls as well as teens and adults use a head of cabbage to play rugby. With kids, it’s usually not that bad as they aren’t very strong and their attention span doesn’t last long enough for them to do much damage. But teens and adults…that’s a whole other story. Teens are the worst because they have so much damn energy and are full of rage because they didn’t make the real rugby team. The guys or girls buy about 100 heads of cabbage at a time and setup a match. It’s a hellish bloodbath, I tell you. I haven’t seen anything so terrible since the great cabbage massacre of 1965 when all of Ireland ran out of toilet paper and used us cabbage leaves instead. They were eating us and then using us to clean up our own putrid remains. The thing about Slikkérrog is that sometimes we don’t die right away. Sure, many times a swift kick will knock us right to hell but other times we get passed by foot, hand and head back and forth for hours as we slowly fall apart, leaf to core and are left in the middle of a field to bleed out. Adults are usually worse as they usually play when they are already half in the bag and will keep pummeling the same mangled cabbage for hours before moving on to the next one. My cousin Paddy was killed in an alley last year from an after-work scrimmage when two drunken lads kicked him into the same brick wall until either they passed out or the ale ran out. Those games ought to be illegal but no one will do anything about it and our community has been far to frightened to say anything. Well,until now. Between the Slikkérrog, and the Shangercók I don’t know what’s worse. You don’t know what Shangercók is??! Oh, bloody hell. I tell you teenage boys are some disturbed creatures. They take one of us, core out a deep hole starting from the bottom of the head, as we are strongest and most fibrous right in the middle, grab some bacon fat or K-Y Jelly in more upper-class neighborhoods,and use our whole head on their—to help make them—well they move us back and for—you know, until they…finish. And then of course they just toss us away in a dumpster because they’re too ashamed to keep us or rest us in peace in a regular waste basket. Just talking about it makes me want to take a Silkwood Sprinkler. The worst of it all, to be honest, is really the desolation of waiting to be harvested and consumed. St. Patrick’s Day is the worst. You want to know why everyone is so drunk on St. Patrick’s Day? It’s because they can’t consciously live with the pillaging of our fields and boiling us into oblivion only to be eaten and and forgotten about yet again. On top of that, we aren’teven the main dish! What is so great about corned beef? Have you seen our lustrous green leaves?! Our full beautiful heads?! It’s a disgrace. And then we are shat out only hours later to be lost to a septic system or field forever.The lucky heads that don’t get killed for your St. Patrick’s Day meals are used the next day when everyone is hung-over as weapons. ‘Oh, my head hurts because I’m a drunken sod and why can’t this child stop crying?! *BAM* Little Timmy is knocked out by a head of cabbage but at least he’ll go back to his mother to rest. We are yelled at for being dangerous vegetables and then are kicked into the sewer or often, run over repeatedly by cars and trucks until we lose consciousness and die. And people laugh all day wearing green, singing unintelligible limericks, spitting out the same misquoted Irish verse you did last year donned head to toe in shamrocks. Shamrocks…they’re not even really a flower. Ppfftttt!
But go on,drink your ale, piss yourself and abuse more heads of cabbage. Just rem—“
At this point I chopped Sean in half with a butcher’s knife. I was getting hungry.